


What is Real

by StarshipDancer



Series: Tumblr Quirrellmort Prompts [2]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kinda, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipDancer/pseuds/StarshipDancer
Summary: Tumblr writing prompt: 3. "Please, don't leave."





	What is Real

“Voldemort?”

Voldemort looked up from his phone to see Quirrell beside the couch. It was after dinner, so Quirrell should’ve been curled up at his side, book in hand until he dozed off to the prose of Jane Austen. That was Voldemort’s favorite way to spend their lazy afternoons, just… basking in each other’s company.

Tonight, Quirrell didn’t have a book with him. He had nothing with him, save for a somber expression. He wasn’t looking too good, either. His eyes were framed with dark circles, and his cheeks looked pale and sallow. He kept nervously fidgeting, as if not wanting to start this conversation.

Voldemort lowered his phone immediately, unable to control the concern coursing through him. Quirrell had never looked so serious, not in all the time that they’d been together. Voldemort couldn’t help the feeling that something was incredibly wrong.

“Hey, Quirrell. Are you okay?”

Quirrell shifted a little, nervous. He hadn’t been nervous around Voldemort in a long time. “Voldemort… can we talk about something?”

“Yeah, of course. You wanna sit down?”

“Nuh-nuh-nuh-nnn….” Quirrell swallowed and collected himself. Voldemort waited patiently. “No. No, I’ll stuh-stand, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Voldemort said slowly. “Of course that’s fine. What do you want to talk about?”

Quirrell swallowed, visibly distressed. Voldemort reached a hand out, trying to take Quirrell’s, to comfort him, but Quirrell pulled his arm away. “Voldemort. My nightmares are getting worse.”

Voldemort didn’t really need to be told this. They slept back-to-back in the same bed; of _course_ Voldemort realized how restless Quirrell’s nights had been recently.

“It’s like eh-every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that-that— _that place_.” Quirrell didn’t need to elaborate. Voldemort knew better than anyone what _that place_ was. Azkaban, wizard prison, where the lowest of the low are sent to rot away into literal nothingness. Thanks to Voldemort, Quirrell had been sentenced there for crimes he didn’t commit, and neither one of them had really ever recovered from that—Voldemort for the guilt he felt, and Quirrell for what he experienced there.

“Quirrell,” Voldemort began, trying again to reach for Quirrell’s hand, but now Quirrell stepped away.

“I can’t get it out of my head, Voldemort! The dementors! The solitude! The happiness being sucked from me day in and day out!” Quirrell’s voice was rising, and he wasn’t stuttering. That was Voldemort’s first sign that this was bad. Truly bad. He stood up, holding up his hands to try and calm his boyfriend down.

But Quirrell stepped back even more, putting as much space between them as their small living room would allow. “No, Voldemort. No. I can’t do this anymore. Every time I look at your face, I just get reminded of what happened. How you _betrayed_ me. Did you think that coming back would just fix everything? Fix what you did?”

“Quirrell—”

“No, I’m sick of listening to you! It’s time you listened!”

Voldemort, swallowing the fear poisoning his gut, only nodded. He stood still, paralyzed by what Quirrell could say.

What he was about to say.

“Voldemort, I don’t think we should be together. Even trying to make this work was a… a _mistake_.”

“Quirrell, hold on—”

Quirrell cut him off, his voice loud and cold and unequivocal. “I just can’t forgive you for what you did. For sending me to that awful place. For tricking me the way you did.”

“Quirrell, I’ve changed!” Voldemort tried to say, but Quirrell was already walking to the door. This was happening so fast! Too fast, time almost passing by in a blur. Voldemort tried to take a step forward, but he stumbled, off-balance, and fell to his knees.

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve changed! I know who you are—who you _truly_ are! You’ll always be the dark lord. That’s all you’ll ever be.” Quirrell fixed with him with an icy, dead stare. The eyes of a stranger, looking down upon him as if nothing could ever be so pitiful as Voldemort.

With a sudden lurch, Voldemort realized why. He was gasping for air, choking, as if the further away Quirrell went, the less Voldemort could breathe. Desperate, he tried to crawl closer, but Quirrell was so far away now. So far out of reach! Voldemort wheezed, panicking, and tried to crawl faster— _faster_ —

“Squirrel,” Voldemort pleaded, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “ **Please, don’t leave**.”

“Goodbye, Voldemort. I wish you’d never come back.” And Quirrell turned his back, walking away from him for good.

“No!” Voldemort rasped, wishing he could follow, but his hand was fading away. He looked down.

 _All_ of him was fading away, evaporating into nothing. Without Quirrell, he _was_ nothing, had no reason to go on existing.

Voldemort clawed at his throat, unable to get even a breath of air. Sweat was beading on his skin, dripping in his eyes, and he shook his head to clear the perspiration. He needed to see! He had to see Quirrell—

-

“Voldemort… Voldemort!” Firm hands shook his shoulder, and Voldemort squirmed against the sudden touch. “Voldemort, wuh-wuh-wake up!”

Voldemort opened his eyes. At first, all he saw was darkness, but then light filled the room, and he could clearly see their bedroom ceiling. A fan spun around idly, uncaring of Voldemort’s dilemma, until Quirrell’s face blocked it from view.

“Voldemort?” he murmured, eyes bleary but alight with worry. “Are you all ruh-right?”

Voldemort stared at him. Reached out for him slowly. Quirrell’s hand appeared in his own, gripping his fingers in tight reassurance. Voldemort took a deep breath and was amazed to find he could do just that— _take a deep breath_.

“Just a… just a dream,” Voldemort said, holding on to Quirrell as he took stock. Quirrell was here. Voldemort could breathe. He wasn’t wasting away into nothing. _Quirrell was here_ , not trying to leave him, not giving him such cruel stares _._

_But it had all felt so real._

Voldemort shivered and moved, trying to curl as close to Quirrell as he could. Quirrell scooted closer, tucking Voldemort into his side and stroking his back soothingly. He felt Quirrell lean down to place a kiss on top of his head and shuddered at the sweetness.

“You hated me,” he whispered to Quirrell’s waist.

“What?” Quirrell asked, sounding stunned. As if he couldn’t imagine such a thing. Voldemort wrapped his arms around Quirrell and settled even more into his side.

“You hated me _so much_. You blamed me for sending you to Azkaban and wanted to leave me.”

“That’s what your dream was about?” Quirrell asked, stroking back some of Voldemort’s disheveled hair.  When Voldemort nodded, Quirrell hummed to himself, and Voldemort could feel the vibrations against his cheek. “Voldemort, we’ve been over this. That was a long time ago. You know I don’t blame you.”

“I know.” He didn’t.

“And I would _never_ leave you.”

“I know.” But he _didn’t_.

Quirrell put a hand under his chin, lifting his face so that Voldemort would meet his gaze. Voldemort still looked worried, but there was also an aching sadness that just broke Voldemort’s heart. “You _do_ know, don’t you? You know I love you, right?”

With Quirrell looking at him like that, Voldemort didn’t think he would ever know anything _but_. He leaned up, seeking, and Quirrell bent down to meet him in a soft, chase kiss. Nothing more than a simple press of the lips, but it was enough to help ground Voldemort. Remind him that _this_ was real.

Quirrell loved him. He would never leave him. He _loved_ him.

And yet, even as the two of them settled back down, with Quirrell wrapped around Voldemort to pin him close, Voldemort couldn’t help but feel his doubts.

 _It had felt so real_.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at neonganymede.tumblr.com !


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